


Hey There Bahorel

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: And then ends in heart wrenching feels, Bahorel and Grantaire are frat guys, Feuilly and Enjolras are french idiots, Hey There Delilah, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Mentions sex once, Someone dies, Songfic, This starts out as fluff, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, he loved him, but in like… a brotherly way. They were just bros. Now this other guy? Not so bros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey There Bahorel

**Author's Note:**

> This is written around Hey there Delilah but some of the words are changed a little to make it fit. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Enjoy!

Bahorel had to put up with Grantaire constantly teasing him for it, but in the middle it was worth. What else did he expect from him? Maybe some punches, but that’s pretty much it. Not to say he didn’t like ‘Taire. No, he loved him, but in like… a brotherly way. They were just bros. Now this other guy? Not so bros.

But, ‘Taire’s reaction was even more over dramatic than he’d expected. He must’ve been spending too much time with Courf lately.

When he first talked about it, ‘Taire screeched (legitimately screeched at him) “You what? You go off galavanting on internet for three THREE days and then tell me you’ve got a girl who serenades you? What the fuck man?”

Bahorel wasn’t totally expecting that. He was more expecting a congrats dude or a how long till you get some action. But not this. And him assuming it was a girl… How could he casually break the news to his best, sorry closest, friend that he was, you know, gay? “Uh… about that… it’s not a girl.”

Staring at him in almost disbelief, sudden recognition flooding his features, he blurts out, “You’ve got a demon?”

Leave it to ‘Taire to jump from girls to mythological monsters. “No.”

“A black hole?”

“Take a guess, asshole.”

“A nation personified?”

“Wait, what? No, no, I’ve got a guy.”

“A… guy?

“Yes. You know, the things you and me are?”

“You’ve got a guy that sings to you? Damn. How gay is this dude? And hold up. You’re gay? Join the club! As long as it’s not Enj. Oh! Imagine if Enj sang to me. Do you even think he can sing? I mean, with a voice...”

“I don’t know or care if Enj can sing! The point is that I have a guy that can sing. And he might know Enj. I think they’re both part of the same organization or something. Less Amigos deli ABC?”

“Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“Right. Whatever. Oh shit gotta run man. Nice talking to you!” And with that, Bahorel fled from the scene to go see if he had another message or song from the guy.

 

Hey there, Bahorel  
What's it like in New York City?  
You’re three thousand miles away  
But man, tonight you look so pretty  
Yeah you do  
These assholes can't shine as bright as you  
I swear it's true

 

Bahorel smiled at his computer. Leave it to this guy to include in a sweet, so not bro song the word asshole. Only a Parisian like his could do it so eloquently while casually say “Fuck you” to all the tourists and the Eiffel tower simultaneously. That was why he loved him. And that was why he fell for him in the first place.

He remembered how he first met him about a month ago. He looked at a selfie, and thought to himself, ‘Hot damn! Maybe I’m not quite as straight as I claim…’ And when he asked for his skype, it just sorta went downhill from there…

Bahorel logged on and immediately picked up, finally wanting to talk to this charmingly elusive stranger. When he picked up, he looked into this guy’s eyes and said the most romantic thing possible in that moment: “I guess I have only you to blame for losing my hetereosexuality.”

Way to go, genius. But it did the job. That man was completely taken by him.

“Now that that’s aside,” this stranger began in the most charming French accent he’d ever heard, “I don’t suppose we should, I don’t know, introduce ourselves? Let’s start from the beginning, ignoring whatever that was. Hi, I’m Feuilly and I live in Paris.”

“Hi, I’m Bahorel and I live in New York City. I’m a boxer and a student and a drunkard, just not quite as bad a my friend. You should meet him. I bet you guys would have a lot in common!”

“I’m part of an organization called Les Amis de l’ABC. I work way too many jobs and am barely affording my education, but I’m doing it.”

“Les Amis de l’ABC? I’ve heard of them before! Is it a big thing in France or what?”

“Big thing? No, it’s hardly a thing at all. How else have you heard of us?”

“My friend, the drunkard, has a little bit of a crush on one of you guys.”

“Is your friend Monsieur Grantaire?”

“Actually, yes. How do you know?”

“Our Enjolras won’t shut up about him.”

“He will be delighted to know that!”

“Not really…”

 

Hey there, Bahorel  
Don't you worry about the distance  
I'm right here if you get lonely  
Give my song another listen  
Close your eyes  
Listen to my voice, it's my disguise  
I'm by your side

 

Bahorel smiled to himself as he hit the punching bag with a resounding thud that echoed through the nearly empty gym. Even ‘Taire had left by now.

In his mind, he thought of his new friend Feuilly. But was Feuilly his friend? Or was he more than that? But did he even consider Bahorel his friend at all? What were they?

Frantically, he texted Feuilly:

Bahorel: wat r we????  
Feuilly: Excuse you? We’re humans.  
Bahorel: i mean like friends  
Bahorel: online friends  
Bahorel: more than friends  
Bahorel: not even friends  
Feuilly: I guess I never really thought about it before.  
Bahorel: well what do you think we r  
Feuilly: Well we’re at least friends. Maybe something more, if you want.  
Bahore: i want  
Feuilly: Good ;)

 

Hey there, Bahorel  
You know times are getting hard  
But just believe me, man  
Someday I'll pay my bills with this guitar  
I'll have it good  
We'll live the life we know we should  
My word is good

 

Feuilly was stressing about money and he wanted to help. But how could he help. He didn’t exactly have money to spare that he could send to him, but he wanted to help other ways. He chose to do it by keeping his mood up in whatever way possible.

They were officially boyfriends now. Facebook official and everything. There’d even been a cake (technically two: one for each of them because they couldn’t share).

Bahorel tried everything within his power to cheer Feuilly up. He tried everything from dad jokes to phone sex to even more dad jokes. But it still wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t money. And then Feuilly decided to do the only thing he could.

 

Hey there, Bahorel  
I've got so much left to say  
If every simple song I wrote to you  
Would take your breath away  
I'd write it all  
Even more in love with me you'd fall  
We'd have it all

 

Feuilly had called Bahorel, which wasn’t pretty unusual for them. “Uh hey. I kinda did something not so smart but it was my only option.”

Bahorel couldn’t really trust his ears at this point. What could Feuilly have done that was so stupid and such a bad decision he sounded this worried. “What is it? Have you gone into prostitution?”

“What? No. I joined a revolution.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? I tell you I joined a revolution and all I get is an oh?”

“Well, you’re still alive to tell me this so how bad can it be?”

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. It’s going to happen in two weeks. It’s with that group, Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“Well… good luck I guess.”

 

Hey there, Bahorel  
You be good and don't you miss me  
Two more years and you'll be done with school  
And I'll be down in history like they do  
You'll know it's all to help you through  
You can do whatever you want to  
Hey there, Bahorel, here's to you  
This one's for you

 

Bahorel stared at the envelope in disbelief. This was a mistake, right? This had to be. But, however much he willed it to be wrong, it still said it plain as day.

“Insurgent Alexandre Dominic Feuilly was killed yesterday in a failed rebellion against the French Government upon a barricade he and his comrades built to withstand our forces. His body has already been buried. His memorial service will be held in two days at the Church of Joan of Arc.”

How fitting. His memorial would be held at the church of a martyr. And he probably wouldn’t ever be recognized as such. He’d never get the recognition he deserved. What had become of all those earlier times? All those earlier letters? All those earlier promises? All those earlier songs?

That night, Bahorel lay down, willing his mind to calm down and let him sleep. That night, echoes of Feuilly’s songs rang through his head.

‘Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side’

‘We'll live the life we know we should’

‘We’d have it all’

‘You be good and don't you miss me’

‘This one’s for you’

This one's for you, Feuilly.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that one mention of Bahorel meeting 'a nation personified' is a reference to Patria and the fact that Patria is technically France.


End file.
